


sins of the flesh (tastes like chicken remix)

by escritoireazul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Community: remix_redux, Community: remixredux05, Gen, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus always loved the taste of meat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sins of the flesh (tastes like chicken remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [sins of the flesh](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1162) by koanju. 



> Dedication: Thank you kphoebe for the beta. Written for the Remix/Redux III: Reloaded, it is a remix of koanju's "Sins of the Flesh".

_blood-drenched skin and warm flesh_

Remus loves the taste of meat, tender, juicy morsels of flesh so raw they’re bleeding. Every time he asks Molly to cook his food rare she looks at him askance and is so disgusted he has to swallow his laughter.

When he’s alone, Remus brings home fresh meat from the shops and hides it in his bedroom. He’s haunted by Sirius’s memory there more than anywhere else and the only way to find sleep is to eat his way into oblivion.

Peeling the plastic off the packages takes long enough that he grinds his teeth and throws the rubbish on the floor. No one comes in because this was Sirius’s room and now it’s his and they both cherished their privacy.

Remus tears into the meat; he wishes he had wolf fangs to rip through to the bone. It has been dead for too long and has lost the heat of life, but it is still wet and fills his stomach.

He forgets to chew and tries to swallow some pieces whole while he dreams about hunting in the darkness and the heady scent of fear and impending death. He can’t remember what he does as a wolf when he tries, but his dreams have been invaded often enough by blood and hunger.

Remus daydreams about hunting easy prey versus the thrill of the chase. There are some facts he knows better than his own mind though he does not remember when he learned them. He knows what he would like if he gave in to his need.

Blood tastes sweetest from the back of the body.

He likes the way flesh parts on his teeth and the spine crunches when he bites down. Slivers of bone pierce his tongue, but the pain adds spice. It’s like his favorite oriental combination, hot soup and honey chicken, but he also gets to feel the body struggle to escape.

He likes it best when they scream.

~~*

_bloody welts on wild flesh_

Snape came to him each afternoon of the full moon cycle without fail. Every time, Remus wanted to tear the greasy hair out of his scalp and use it to wipe the sneer from his sallow face.

Even the thought of _Snape’s_ blood made his mouth water. Remus refused to think about how sour it would taste, flooded with noxious potions combinations.

Fear fluttered across Snape’s face, a fleeting expression that was almost instantly buried beneath scorn and dislike. He slammed down the goblet on the desk so hard that some of the liquid splashed over the edge.

Remus drank the potion; it lingered on his tongue, bitter, and his stomach rebelled. The face he made had a familiar feel to it; if questioned, he would blame it on the vile taste, but in truth he snarled because he knew it controlled him.

He liked being able to remember that he was both human and wolf, but the full moon still filled him with trepidation. Now he knew he wouldn’t hurt anyone, but the wolf was gelded, lessened by the application of magic, and he hated the constant feel of a mental cage. It was clear he was as trapped as if silver bars pressed against his skin.

“The potion is nearly simple enough for you to make on your own,” Snape said. Each word sounded like it was forced out from between clenched teeth. “In another month or so, I won’t be required to protect the school from you.”

Remus waited before he answered; too many words struggled to spill out first and he had to bite his lips so he wouldn’t reveal just how what he really wanted to do, to anyone but especially to Snape.

_Sirius had the right of it_, Remus thought. _He does deserve to run into the wolf._

But Sirius was a traitor and Remus shouldn’t agree with him about anything. Remus couldn’t concentrate past his hunger; he craved raw meat and where it came from seemed to matter less now than it did before.

“Thank you,” Remus said. The words were hard to say but safe; he knew not even Snape would believe his careful tone. Snape sniffed and swept out of the office, his robes swirling behind him as he moved.

Remus twisted the goblet between his fingers and stared at it without seeing any of the details carved into its surface. He could still taste the potion in the back of his throat; if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he almost remembered blood.

~~*

_young pup loves raw flesh_

Before everyone he’d loved was dead, or as good as, when Peter still followed James around like a sycophantic puppy and Sirius still planned most—but not all—of their adventures, Remus never thought about who did or did not deserve to meet the wolf or what would be the easiest prey or how nice it would sound if someone screamed for him.

He growled at people in the halls between classes, under his breath or just a little louder if any first years were about. They’d stare at him and the whites of their eyes flashed; it was a beautiful sign of fear. He told himself he wouldn’t have ever done it if Sirius didn’t laugh so hard each time.

Remus ate his meat raw when he could. It was tender and juicy; blood burst into his mouth and it was wonderful. When bloody, almost everything tasted just like chicken, they said. They were wrong, of course; beef was darker, richer, and bloodier and lingered on his tongue.

He’d grin, blood smeared at the corners of his mouth and across his teeth, and his friends would laugh for hours at the inside joke and everyone else thought Remus was strange, a good boy really, but just a little crazy. After James and Sirius’s pranks, everyone was just glad he was the harmless one.  
And then he grew up.

~~*  
_give in to the flesh_

Remus knows that no one trusts him; no matter the work he’s done these past eighteen years, everyone still sees him as a monster. Molly watches him now that Sirius is gone and the children are alone with him in what was once the Noble House of Black. Harry seeks out his company because he’s the closest thing to James, Lily, and Sirius; Ron and Hermione tag along because they are loyal to Harry. Molly always finds an excuse to hover nearby and she watches Remus out of the corner of her eye.

She watches particularly close when he brews Snape’s potion. He doesn’t ask her why but he can see it on her face. She doesn’t believe he’ll do the right thing without his keeper.

No one remembers that Remus spent over a decade alone. He locked himself away during the full moon and rarely used magic and spent his time among the Muggles because they didn’t know he was truly a monster. They didn’t look at him with blame in their eyes because he turned into a beast and because he hadn’t seen Sirius’s betrayal coming.

Remus is tired. He’s tired of not being trusted and he’s tired of pretending that he’s a mild-mannered man. He no longer has any friends to be a good influence on and he’s tired of pretending that works, anyway. He’s tired of being good.

Remus cracks his knuckles; he can feel the scars crisscrossing his fingers, years of memories embedded deep in his skin. He’s never outgrown his love of raw meat and for the first time in years, he’s going to enjoy himself and sate his hunger. There is no need for control now; he is alone and everyone knows he is a werewolf. Everyone already believes he kills people, some Death Eaters but perhaps innocent bystanders as well.

He growls as he approaches the young woman he’s trapped in this room until the moon rises and he can give into its pull.

“W-w-werewolf,” she stutters and pushes herself farther into the corner.

“Yes, ten points to Gryffindor,” he says. He grins at her and reveals the blood on his teeth and tongue. She presses her fist to her mouth; he creeps forward and drags his fingers along the seams of his trousers. He is hungry, but he can hold out until she gives him the first thing he wants, the aperitif before his tender, juicy meal.

She scrabbles in her pocket and pulls out her wand; she is fast, but he is faster and he disarms her with a well-placed _expelliarmus._ She shakes her wand hand as if it tingles and tries to scoot away to the left, but he paces her with ease.

Finally she screams.

Her cry is high and airy; she chokes it off after just a moment, but it is enough to wet his palate. He licks his tongue across his lips. The moon will rise soon, and he will gorge.

Remus never lost his love of raw flesh, tender and bloody. It tastes just like chicken, really.


End file.
